


Growing Pains

by noodlerdoodler



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Autistic Vanya Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves Friendship, Ben Hargreeves Deserves Better, Canon Compliant, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Good Sibling Klaus Hargreeves, Growing Up, Luther Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Multi, Number Five | The Boy Deserves Better, Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phobias, Pre-Canon, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Road Trips, Sick Character, Stuttering Diego Hargreeves, Swimming Pools, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25870333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlerdoodler/pseuds/noodlerdoodler
Summary: A collection of one-shots about the Umbrella Academy as young children.Chapter One: Nobody wants to play with Luther anymore.Chapter Two: Five is scared of swimming, (so Reginald throws him in).Chapter Three: Klaus makes friendship bracelets.Chapter Four: (Unsurprisingly) Ben has a very weak stomach.Chapter Five: Vanya gets to join in for once.Chapter Six: The ghost of a soldier befriends Klaus.Chapter Seven: It's Christmas Eve!Chapter Eight: Diego is scared of the dentist.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Everyone, Ben Hargreeves & Everyone, Diego Hargreeves & Everyone, Klaus Hargreeves & Everyone, Luther Hargreeves & Everyone, Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) & Everyone, Vanya Hargreeves & Everyone
Comments: 21
Kudos: 296





	1. Luther

**Author's Note:**

> ALSO if anyone has any headcanons about their childhood that would fit here, I'm happy to write any requests.

None of his brothers and sisters would share their toys with him anymore. They didn’t have many toys to begin with, since Dad thought all work and no play made Jack a _soldier_. The few things they did have to play with were scattered across the seven of them and most of them had been improvised from things already in the house: Diego used Mom’s clothes pegs as action figures and Five waved around a toy gun constructed from cardboard. Bang, bang! You’re dead. 

Luther used to be part of their elaborate games that nearly always boiled down to ‘good vs evil'. He always liked to be the good guy, usually with Allison as his partner because they were as thick as thieves, while Diego (who never wanted to be on Luther’s team for anything) and Five were content to play the bad guys. They would all don makeshift weapons and race around the house, skidding across the marble floor in their polished shoes and ducking behind the furniture for cover. Dad probably thought it was a good exercise in teamwork, which is probably why he didn't interrupt them playing often. 

It would usually end in an argument because Diego would never admit to losing:

“I got you, you’re dead!” 

“No, you d-d-did-didn’t! You m-miss-missed m-me!” He’d cry out indignantly, turning to a third party, “B-ben, he d-did-did-didn’t get m-mm-me, d-did he?”

At which point, Ben would usually look up from a picture book and try to mediate between them. He didn’t play pretend with them very much because he said it was boring, (even though he spent all his time reading!), so he was good at deciding who was wrong and who was right. If they couldn’t find Ben, for whatever reason, Vanya would sometimes get pulled in to help. She wasn’t as helpful- she didn’t like to take sides at all and the argument would usually escalate out of control. Diego tended to storm off angrily, cool down, and then return to play five minutes later. It was all good fun really.

But then, one day, Luther wasn’t allowed to play anymore. 

He had come downstairs after training and found the three of them already caught up in a game, which made his stomach feel funny. Luther wasn’t used to the others playing without him. In fact, he was usually the ringleader when it came to games because he was Number One. Something was wrong. Immediately, he knew they’d left him out on purpose, because they froze in place when they saw him coming down the stairs. Allison looked particularly guilty about leaving him out, fiddling with the collar of her blazer. 

“Who’s going to be on my team?” Luther asked, standing on the bottom step.

Diego crossed his arms, “We don’t want to play with you anymore.”

“You’ll just break my stuff again!” Five told him, pointing his gun at him, “Bang, bang!” 

It was true that Luther kept breaking things. He wasn’t doing it on purpose, however, which is what most of his siblings thought. He’d always been super strong and Dad told him that he was Number One because of it- because he was so strong and powerful. So being strong had always seemed like a good thing until now. However, suddenly, he was too strong for his own good and it seemed more like a bad thing. If he picked something up, he nearly always crushed it in his grip, no matter how careful he was. He’d torn pages out of their books just by turning them and stuck them back in in the wrong order, making Ben cry when he found them. 

Whenever something broke, everyone groaned in unison: "Not _again_ , Lutherrrrr." 

He’d already broken a few of his siblings’ belongings, even though he had tried so hard to be gentle. Five's toy cars had fallen victim to his tight grip, a shelf in Klaus's room had collapsed when he leant against it to talk to him, and Vanya had lost a chunk of hair when he had been helping her tie it up. Worst of all was Diego because he could hold a grudge. When him and Diego had been play-fighting, Luther had accidentally sprained his brother’s wrist when he had pushed him, annoyed, and sent him flying across the room. Now, Diego had his arm in a sling and kept scowling at him. No wonder his siblings didn’t want to play with him anymore when he couldn’t do anything right. 

“Allison?” He looked to her, already feeling a lump in his throat. Surely, she'd let Luther play with them. 

Before she could say anything, Diego answered for her, “We t-t-too-took a v-v-vo-vo-vote. Go p-p-pl-pl-pla-play w-with sssss-some-some-someone el-else.” 

Instead, Luther had gone to his mother and curled up on her lap, sucking his thumb like he did when his Dad wasn’t around. It was a habit his father had made clear wasn't acceptable, threatening to bump him down to Number Seven if he kept it up. Mom had stroked his hair and assured him that it was just because he was a growing boy. He didn't know his own strength yet but he would find it easier to control, with practice and age. Soon, Luther would be able to control his powers and then everyone would be proud of how strong he was, rather than annoyed with him. It made him feel a little bit better. 

But as the days went by, his siblings didn’t forget about his strength. 

There were small things: nobody would ask him to pass anything, even if he was the closest to whatever it was they wanted, and Klaus teased him about the things he broke., ("be careful you don't pull the doorhandles off" when he left a room). It didn't help that Five had decided to coin the term "pulling a Luther" for whenever somebody broke something- or that it had caught on among his siblings. Even Allison slipped up and used the joke in front of him once. Then, there was the bigger problem of nobody wanting to play with him anymore. 

Luther wasn’t used to being told no by his siblings, since he was meant to be the leader, and he certainly wasn’t used to being left out. He thought being the leader meant that they played whatever he wanted to play and had no idea that he could be excluded from games completely. It was a lonely life, to have six siblings and have all of them suddenly reluctant to spend time with you. At least Vanya had learnt to keep herself occupied. Whereas Luther had no idea what to do with himself. It was a lonely feeling, sitting on the staircase and watching his siblings play without him. 

Following his mother’s advice, Luther tried playing with his other brothers and sister. They still didn't let him touch their toys but were at least willing to let him on their games. He played house with Vanya a few times, who was pleased to have some company for once, but she was used to playing alone and didn’t seem to know how to play with somebody else. If he said or did something she didn’t like, Vanya would politely go along with it but her frown was obvious. Playing house was incredibly mundane, no good guys, bad guys, secret missions, or weapons. After a while, Luther got bored. 

Next, he tried to play with Klaus. As weird as he was, Klaus had no qualms about Luther tagging along with him on his wanders through the house. But his brother was far more interested in talking to his imaginary friends and Luther couldn’t understand what half of his games were about anyway. Plus, all the talk of ghosts and dead people seriously freaked him out. Playing with Ben was a no-go too. Watching him read was boring and his pretend games were the opposite of Vanya's, much too complex and vast for Luther to comprehend. Good and evil were far too ambiguous in Ben's imagination. 

Defeated, he went back to the others. 

“Please let me play,” He ended up begging Allison, “I’ll be really careful.”

“I’m sorry, Luther. You’re just… too much,” She ran off to join the others. 

Once again, he ended up with his head on his mother’s lap and his thumb in his mouth. He spent some time lying there, not crying because it wasn't strong and powerful to cry. It would take time for things to go back to normal, Mom reassured him, but it wouldn’t be forever. He would master his strength, stop breaking things by accident so often, and his siblings would forget all about it. Children were fickle like that. Quietly, Luther vowed that he would work harder on his powers than ever before. It wasn't just because nobody would play with anymore but also because of Diego's wrist, which he hadn't stopped reminding him about at any available opportunity- it scared Luther that he could hurt someone like that without meaning too. 

He worked hard at his training and his father seemed pleased with his efforts to keep up his Number One status. Luther did end up being able to control his strength, of course, and eventually, his siblings invited him back into their games. He was so happy to be included again that he tried to forget about the time before as quickly as possible. It sank into the past. In reality, it was probably only a few lonely days or weeks where he didn’t have anyone to play with. It stuck out in his mind, though, despite him only being four or five at the time and would loom over him whenever he was feeling lonely. 

When his siblings left the academy one by one, until it was only him. Until there was nobody else for him to play with anymore. 

If he started feeling too down about it, he just thought about when he was a little boy and had run to his mother's lap for comfort. Her soothing words made it easier to bear the years alone. Soon, everyone would be proud of how strong he was, rather than annoyed with him. Mom had told him so. 

It would take time for them to let him back in, sure… but it wouldn’t be forever.


	2. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: drowning, bad parenting choices.

Five didn’t like the slippery feeling of the wet tiles under his feet. It made him worry that he might lose his footing, fall into the water and drown. In front of all his siblings too- with the exception of Six, who had managed to wriggle his way out of swimming and was now sitting with his toes dipped into the water, the rest of them were already playing in the pool. 

There had never been anything that his siblings had been able to do before that Five couldn’t do better. Even as he heard his father growing more and more irritated behind him, he couldn’t summon the courage to slip into the freezing cold water. It seemed like a death trap. 

“Come on, Five,” coaxed Seven gently, who was floating near the side.

She wasn’t usually included in training sessions but their father had rationalised that there was no harm in letting her join, as long as she kept out of the way. Treading water, Seven was sporting a pair of pink water-wings to help keep her afloat because the lucky thing wasn’t stuck with the strict training regime. Dad would be furious if Five asked for a pair. 

Four, who had taken to the water like a fish, cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “Hey, Five! I’ll give you my allowance if you do a flip!” 

Reginald Hargreeves chastised him for not taking his training seriously, just like he always did. At least his hot gaze had moved off Five for a minute, giving him a chance to suck in a deep breath. He shuffled to the edge of the water and peered down at it anxiously.

It seemed impossibly deep. How were his siblings just splashing around like it was nothing? 

He could understand why it would be easy for Two, who could hold his breath indefinitely and therefore couldn’t possibly drown. Quickly, his siblings had taken advantage of his ability by challenging him to contests and taking it in turns to dunk him under the water. Right now, though, Two and One seemed to be engage in some sort of race from one end of the pool to the other.

Just the thought of the deep end, with no solid ground beneath his feet, made Five shiver. 

“That’s enough, Number Five!” His father’s strict voice struck fear into his heart, “If you aren’t going to get in on your own, I’m going to have to do it for you.”

A sharp pain shot through him as Five was grabbed by the ear, crying out involuntarily as his father dragged him along the poolside. He stumbled along, terrified of slipping, and wondered what his father was going to do with him. Reginald Hargreeves could be unnecessarily harsh when it came to making his children live up to their potential. 

Horrified, Five realised that they were heading towards the deep end of the pool. None of his siblings were having fun now, all of their eyes fixed on him, as he was halted abruptly and Dad released his grip on his ear. Looking out across the pool, he could see Seven watching with wide nervous eyes and Three whispering something in One’s ear. 

“In with you!” For a man who hadn't done a day's work in years, their father certainly was strong. He was able to pick up Five with ease, hooking one arm around his torso and the other around his legs. Without hesitation, he tossed the squirming child into the freezing cold water.

Sheer fear ran through Five’s veins as he soared through the air, too absorbed in his panic to teleport. The water felt as hard as concrete when he hit it and the shock of the sudden cold made him gasp. He sucked in a mouthful of water, coughing and spluttering as he tried to claw his way to the surface. There was no floor to kick off from, making it fruitless, as his head ducked under the water.

Panicking, Five tried to kick his legs like he’d been taught to do but just ended up flailing, throwing his arms around wildly in an attempt to save himself. His hands didn’t find anything to grab onto and any attempt to breathe just flooded his lungs with water. Five was going to die. 

In a flurry of activity, someone grabbed him under the arms and shoved his head above the water. Frantically, he choked for air, still searching for something to grab onto. He was still writhing desperately in the water, trying not to drown, as his brother tried to get a good grip on him. 

“Stop kicking,” Two scolded him, “I’ve got you, idiot.”

Somehow, Five summoned the strength to stop flailing and let his brother drag him over to the poolside. Every second he was in the water, his fear grew. Gratefully, he grabbed hold of the side, heaved himself out of the water, and flopped onto his knees on the poolside. It must’ve been a full five minutes before he stopped gagging for air, spitting up salty water all over his Umbrella Academy swimming trunks. 

Finally, he was able to breathe again. He nodded a brief thank you to Two, who seemed satisfied and dived back under the water, swimming back towards the others. Now that the show was over, they’d all resumed playing. A looming shadow fell over Five. 

“I’m disappointed in you, Number Five,” his father told him, harshly, before striding away.

He supposed it could’ve been worse. He could’ve thrown him back in. 

Not long after, a worried Six came over to usher him back into the changing rooms. He helped an exhausted Five dry off and climb back into his uniform, wriggle back into his knee socks. Adrenaline was still racing through his veins as he shrugged on his blazer. Quietly, Six suggested that they wait outside for the others to finish, away from the smell of chlorine. 

That was the last time that Five ever went swimming.


	3. Allison & Klaus

“What colours do you want?” Klaus sung from behind the couch.

Startled, Allison turned around and knelt up to see what her brother was doing. She peered over the edge of the couch and found her brother sitting with his back to it, fiddling with a tangled bundle of multi-coloured threads. Whatever he was doing looked complicated and he let out a huff as he fussed with the different threads, extracting a purple one.

Raising an eyebrow, Allison demanded, “What are you doing?” 

This prompted her brother to look up, a dopey grin on his face. Klaus looked incredibly pleased with himself as he held up his weedy wrist, so enthusiastically that he nearly hit her in the face. Sliding down his arm were several bracelets he must’ve braided and knotted together, all different colours and some strung with beads. So, that was why he’d been so quiet at dinner.

“What colours do you want?” He repeated, “I’m making you one 'cos you're my favourite sister. You like purple, right?” 

She had no idea what their father would say if she spotted him. Then again, Klaus seemed to go out of his way to annoy Reginald, so maybe he’d just be pleased. None of them could understand why he made things so difficult for himself, why he always acted out, but at this point Allison had already written it down to Klaus being Klaus. She found herself nodding.

Once Allison picked out the colours, her brother sat cross-legged and mumbled to himself under his breath as he worked. For a while, she watched him but couldn’t make any kind of sense of what he was doing. Instead, Allison picked up the magazine that she’d been reading and resumed flicking through the pages with interest. 

Reginald Hargreeves had promised his favourite daughter that she would be famous one day for her ability. She just had to complete her training first. Fingers crossed, Allison hoped that she’d feature in a magazine herself one day, a double-page spread or two if she played her cards right.

Maybe little girls would dream about being _her_. 

Klaus sprung to his feet, thrusting a bracelet in her face, “Allie! Do you love it?” 

She studied the scrambled braiding of the purple, pink, and blue threads. Glittering silver beads, each printed with a letter, had been threaded through the bracelet so that her name was haphazardly spelt out. Well, Klaus had spelt ALISON but she could forgive him.

Everyone was still adjusting to having names instead of numbers.

Pleased, Allison bounced off the couch and threw her arms around her brother, “I do!”

This made him beam with excitement, hugging her back. When he broke away, Klaus bobbed up and down on his toes, clapping his hands together enthusiastically. A lightbulb practically danced above his head as he promptly decided that everyone needed one of his bracelets. As he dashed away, thread trailing in his wake, Allison couldn’t wait to see her other brothers adorned with knobbly handmade jewellery. 

Sure enough, Klaus made good of his promise and produced friendship bracelets for each of his siblings. Subdued colours for quiet Vanya, black and silver for Diego, and a flashy five-coloured bracelet that Five pretended to loathe as he slipped it around his wrist. All the while, Klaus got much more adept and the bracelets gradually got more extravagant.

“Hey, Klaus,” Allison went looking for him one day and eventually found him in the kid’s room, playing with the building blocks, “Can you make me another friendship bracelet? I really liked the one you made for Luther with the airplanes.”

He waved a hand in the air, knocking the tower of blocks over, “No can do, Allie. I’m into knitting now, Mom’s been teaching me how to do it.”

“Oh,” Allison’s disappointment filtered through her voice, “That’s cool, I guess.”

“Gotta move with the times,” Her brother gave up on his tower and flopped onto the mat, “New hobby, new me, and all that jazz.” 

Indeed, Klaus did reach for a pair of nearby knitting needles and a ball of wool. It seemed that he was attempting to knit a knobbly, bumpy scarf (or was it a tea cosy?) of several clashing colours. Like when he’d first started with the bracelets, it didn’t look particularly good. For a few minutes, she watched him fumble with the needles, muttering to himself.

It was a shame he wasn’t making bracelets anymore. Allison had really grown fond of them. 

“Number Three! Number Four!” Their father’s voice caused them both to whip around, squaring their shoulders and standing up straight, “You’re late for dinner.”

Allison had wrung her hands nervously, “Sorry, Dad.”

“Whatever, old man,” Klaus was more interested in his knitting than pleasing their father. 

When she had returned to the house decades later, to attend her father’s funeral, Allison found the first bracelet Klaus had made for her tucked away safely in her dresser. Her misspelt name looked up at her from among the unravelling threads, dusty from the years spent in a drawer. Running the bracelet through her fingers, Allison smiled at the memory of her brother’s phase. 

She tried to loop it around her wrist but, of course, the bracelet was much too small for her now that she was grown. Thinking of Klaus rummaging through their father’s office, Allison wondered if he’d be willing to make her another one just like. If he could still remember how to. 

Carefully, Allison slid the bracelet into her purse for safekeeping.


	4. Ben

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> emetophobes look away now this chapter revolves entirely around throwing up

It wasn’t often that they went on trips, since their dad was keen to keep them out of the public eye for the most part. Or, as Ben understood it, their dad was determined to never let them have _any_ fun. He didn’t even let Mom take them to the park on their days off and had deemed them old enough now to cut back their playtime. Family holidays had always been out of the question and they’d all long ago given up on pleading with their dad.

He never let them have any fun. It made Ben huff and cross his arms stubbornly.

But today was different. They were heading down South, to spend a few days in special military-level training facilities, which meant they would be sleeping away from home for the first time and all of the siblings were buzzing. Ben was equal parts excited and nervous as he stuffed his suitcase with as many of his books as he could. Recently, he had moved on to books with lots of words in them now and was happy to slug them around with him, even if he didn’t understand _every_ single word. Most of his siblings were still struggling to string their letters together, while he raced ahead of them. It was nice to feel special for once. 

Grace had to remind him to pack some of his clothes as well. He grumbled as he removed a few of his least favourite books to fit his training gear inside the suitcase and then zipped it shut triumphantly. Perfect fit! Then, Ben bounced into the hallway to see how the others were doing and encountered his brother Klaus frantically trying to stuff two pillows into his overnight bag- he hadn’t packed anything else. Ben let out a long sigh but helped him with the zipper. 

In the afternoon, he clambered hastily into the backseat of the car with all six of his siblings and tried not to elbow any of them in the ribs in the process. It was a tight squeeze but they managed it: Ben crammed between Klaus and Five, designated to the middle seat because he was the smallest of them.

Still, he wasn’t as unlucky as Vanya, who had to sit in the passenger seat with only their father for company. As the ‘ordinary’ one, she often drew the short straw like that. Seven was an odd number after all and she was the odd one out. Besides, there wasn’t enough room in the other row either with Luther and Allison giggling over Diego’s (already slumped in his seat with his arms folded grumpily) head. 

“I’m bored!” Klaus declared before the car had even pulled off their property, “Let’s play a game!”

He clapped his hands together enthusiastically and Five pointedly stared down at the Rubik's Cube he was playing with, ignoring him. Groans from the row in front of them suggested that neither of their other brothers were interested. Allison was game though, twisting around in her seat and leaning into the back.

“Sit _down_ , Number Three. Eyes forward!” Reginald snapped, “Number Four, be quiet! There won’t be any silly games outside of recreational time.”

That put an end to any conversation in the backseat- or the front seat for that matter, as Vanya seemed content to stare down at where her hands were resting on her lap. She was probably regretting packing her Mr Snuggles teddybear in her suitcase, since she always felt better when she was cuddling it. Klaus sulked, leaning against the window and pouting. The only noise in the car was the words of Herr Carlson crackling out of the speakers. 

It wasn’t long before Ben started feeling… Strange. And not the kind of strange that meant he scared or upset or hungry. The kind of strange that meant The Horrors were unhappy, writhing around deep inside his stomach, and it made him feel a bit sick. It was a feeling he'd experienced before, usually when he ate something that _they_ disagreed with. Uh oh. Ben stared right ahead, at the back of Diego’s head, and was suddenly grateful that they didn’t go on many trips.

The sensation of sitting in the moving car for so long was making him feel peaky.

Five seemed to have noticed that he’d paled and hissed, “What’s wrong, Six?”

“I just feel-“ He was swiftly cut off by his father's harsh voice. 

“No talking! I expected better from you, Number Six!" It was impressive that his father could make him feel so small without even looking at him, "You’re meant to set an example to your impressionable brothers.”

He meant, of course, Klaus and Five. The two sat on either side of him, waiting quietly to see how he reacted. Both of them were much more likely than Ben to kick up a fuss or go against Dad's strict rules, so he was supposed to be the good little boy that they looked up to. He was the well-behaved one of the bunch. A sense of pride forced Ben to swallow the funny feeling rising in his throat and sit up straight, fixing his eyes straight ahead. From the front seat, Dad gave him a nod of firm approval. _Well done_. He couldn't help looking just a little bit pleased with himself. 

Five just pulled a face at their father's back and returned his focus to his Rubik's Cube. Klaus lolled against the window. 

No matter how he tried to keep his mind off it, Ben couldn’t shake off the strange feeling. It was like his stomach was twisting itself into knots, The Horrors tangling together as they squirmed about in protest at the car ride. They seemed to be growing more active too, as the sensation grew worse and worse the longer her sat there. He drew a few deep breaths and took a small sip of his bottled water, like his Mom always told him to do when he was feeling bad. Ben was starting to feel sweaty and panicked. 

Nervously, Ben piped up, “Dad?”

“I said, no talking,” His father reminded him, shooting him a strict look in the rearview mirror, “You know the rules, Number Six.”

Yes, yes, he knew the rules. He knew them back to the front and one of the most important ones was that when Reginald Hargreeves asked for quiet, they gave him quiet. Otherwise, he risked going straight to bed without dessert. Just thinking about dessert made his stomach lurch unpleasantly and Ben strained against his seatbelt, trying to swallow the acidic feeling in his throat. Both of his brothers were looking at him now, Five with curiosity and Klaus trying to wriggle away from him. Since they'd been bedridden with stomach flu together in the past, Klaus probably recognised the telltale signs that he was about to hurl. 

He inhaled sharply, “I know but Dad-“

“No buts!” Reginald said, which made several of his children giggle.

_“Dad, I’m going to be sick!”_ Ben announced frantically.

He’d always had a weaker stomach than the rest of them, probably due to The Horrors that were as much a part of him as his organs were. But even his father seemed surprised by this particular revelation, pulling over the car with seconds to spare so that Ben could leap out of the car and be violently sick on the side of the highway. His siblings watched from the car, some of them (Allison) looking worried and others (Diego) wincing in disgust. For once, Dad didn’t seem angry with him, just a little disappointed, but made no effort to comfort him. He just stood there, disapproving. 

As if he’d expected _better_ from Ben. As if he was _misbehaving_. 

After a handful of more impromptu stops on the journey, it was concluded that Ben was very prone to carsickness. Most kinds of sickness actually. Which meant that he had to switch places with Vanya for the rest of their childhood, sitting in the passenger seat and sucking on mints in an effort to keep The Horrors subdued. There was nothing fun about sitting in the front with their father, while his siblings whispered and giggled together behind him. As Ben got older and gained more control over his ability, the carsickness got a little more manageable but never went away completely. He always felt strange on long drives.

Even now, as a ghost, Ben felt nauseous during their joyride away from San Francisco. He didn't even think that ghosts _could_ get carsick, or any kind of sick, but trust him to be the one that bucked the trend. Maybe it was some kind of trauma left over from childhood. It amused Klaus a great deal when he asked him to roll the window down so that he could get some fresh air- him being dead and all. But taking faux deep breaths seemed to calm down The Horrors somewhat.

“Classic Benerino,” Klaus shook his head fondly, “Everything in existence upsets your stomach.”

Ben rolled his eyes, “You’re lactose intolerant, I don’t think you can say anything.”

“Au contraire!” His brother grinned mischievously, “It gives me a pass to make fun of you even more than I do already. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you, Benny Boy, better grab your ghost paper bag in case you need to ghost spew!”


	5. Vanya

The Umbrella Academy were twelve years old when they were introduced to the public for the first time. They were also twelve when they did their first interview, swinging their legs and tapping their toes with nerves. Once they’d gotten into the rhythm of it though, it wasn’t too bad: Allison had demonstrated her ability by rumouring one of the crew members to do a handstand, Klaus had charmed the interviewers with his rambling answers, and even Diego had managed to stutter out his answer to one of the questions. It had almost been fun.

For The Umbrella Academy, that is. Vanya, formerly known as Number Seven, wasn’t an official member and had watched the interview on the TV at home as she restrung her violin. She hadn’t even be allowed to go with them and sit backstage- not that she really wanted to. Being around too many people made her nervous and television sets looked like busy places.

After that, though, the Academy were in demand. The phone in the hall was ringing off the hook, asking if they could visit this station or talk to that magazine, and the press soon took up significant portions of their week. Some of the interviews were even in other cities or across the country and in the end, it became easier for Vanya to just sit off to the side doing her homework. That way, Grace and Pogo could come with them to supervise. 

Vanya didn’t mind too much in the end. Mom got her some noise-cancelling headphones to make sure that Vanya didn’t get too overwhelmed by the bustling and the noise. Dr Pogo would tutor her while the rest of them were getting prepared for their big moment. Nobody at the set paid her much attention, so she didn't have to talk to any strangers. And when they hopped in the car, Klaus and Five made sure she felt welcome sitting in the backseat with them.

Secretly, Vanya enjoyed being part of something for once. Even though she didn’t get to do much.

“What’s it like growing up with five siblings?” An interviewer asked one day, “Especially since you’re all the same age. It must be very strange!”

They were at a big television network in France, talking to a nice lady following their most recent mission at the Eiffel Tower. They'd managed to prevent the historic monument, which was actually a rocket, from disappearing into space. It was important to promote the Academy in France, especially since Allison was French by birth and had a big fanbase here. She’d been doing most of the talking in interviews, as well as stopping in the street to sign autographs and take photos with fans. She had started carrying around expensive designer bags and wearing elaborate make-up. 

Vanya had taken the chance to practice her French. She’d even been allowed to go to a _pâtisserie_ and order _raspberry millefeuilles_ , under Grace’s supervision, thrilled when the staff complimented her accent. The whole affair had felt terribly grown up.

“Six siblings,” Five corrected matter-of-factly, “It’s not strange at all. Actually, 5% of American households consist of six people or more.”

Luther added helpfully, “Number Seven doesn’t go on missions with us. She’s ordinary.”

Up until now, Vanya had only been half-listening to the conversation while she worked on her math problems. The set was fairly low-key, so she’d swapped out her headphones and had instead just hooked one earbud into her ear. While her siblings thought it was strange she listened to classical music, it made her feel calm and helped her focus. Idly, she looked up to see where her siblings were sitting on the set. Of course, they were sat in number order on two benches: One, Two, and Three were on the back (slightly raised) bench with Four, Five, and Six sat in front of them. They looked smart in their matching uniforms.

“Well, it doesn’t seem fair to make Number Seven watch from backstage,” The interviewer said kindly, “Can somebody get her mic-ed up so she can join her siblings?”

Next thing Vanya knew, she was being ushered out of her seat by a crew-member and Mom was smoothing down her uniform for her. Immediately, a sense of anxiety set in as Vanya looked around to see where her father was: surely, he wouldn’t let her join in with the others? He never did. But her father was just watching, disgruntled, as a mic was attached to the label of her blazer and a powder was dusted over her face. Vanya coughed, feeling overwhelmed. She didn't like being rushed, usually needing extra time to get ready in the mornings, and she definitely didn't like being crowded by lots of people. 

She squinted at the bright lights as she was pushed onto the set, stumbling nervously over her feet, and walked awkwardly over to where her siblings were seated. Some were smiling, others looking at her like she was a stranger they'd never seen before. She supposed it was because they weren't used to thinking of her as part of the family. Vanya had intended to perch in her rightful place, on the end of bench next to Ben, but the interviewer suggested Klaus and Five move apart so she could sit in the middle. Obediently, she did as she was told.

“Hello Number Seven,” The interviewer smiled at her, “It’s nice to meet you. Is this your first time being on TV?”

Struck dumb, Vanya bobbed her head in agreement and tried to hide behind her bangs. One of her brothers took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly, while Klaus slung one of his long arms around her shoulders. He sometimes did that in the car on long journeys, resting his head on her shoulder so that he could take a nap. Vanya didn’t really mind, knowing it was how he showed affection, and appreciated the grounding weight of his arm right now. 

The interviewer seemed to sense her nerves, “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Vanya,” She said shyly, before remembering her manners, “My name is Vanya Hargreeves.”

“What a pretty name,” The interviewer cooed.

At first, talking to the interviewer felt really strange and she knew that her answers came out awkward or stilted. Despite her impeccable manners, Vanya often struggled to talk to other people well and found that she didn’t really understand the unspoken rules of conversation. Even her siblings were hard to talk to- it was one of the reasons that she didn't really mind spending most of her time alone. Vanya was never sure when it was her turn to speak or what she was expected to say. But the interviewer was very patient with her and her siblings answered any questions she didn’t know the answer to.

Slowly, Vanya started to relax a little and felt her shoulders loosen up. Her mouth felt less dry. As self-conscious as she felt talking about herself, it was kind of nice for someone other than her mom to show an interest in her, even if it was superficial. Once the interviewer asked about violin, Vanya found herself talking passionately about the subject and eventually had to be politely cut off. She could’ve kept going for hours. At home, whenever she tried to talk to her siblings about music, they'd always groan and tell her that she talked too much. Even though she was as quiet as a mouse the rest of the time. 

“I never permitted you to interview Number Seven,” Reginald Hargreeves told the interviewer strictly after they’d finished filming, “I’ll be talking to your employers about this. No footage of Number Seven is to be shown on TV or made publicly available.”

Vanya wasn’t surprised but felt a little disappointed as she filed out of the studio with her siblings, leaving her father to threaten or pay off whoever he needed to. She was quiet as they went down in the elevator, tensing up like she always did when she was in a small space, and as they got into the car that was waiting for them in the parking lot. Vanya chewed on her hair nervously. She knew she'd done something wrong in the interview, to provoke her father, but she didn't know what.

Klaus, who had smoked a blunt in the toilets at the studio, lolled against her shoulder. He stunk of weed. 

“You were really great, Vanny…” He drawled, “France is going to looove you. _J’aime ma petite soeur_ …”

Everyone rolled their eyes at him, even Ben (who was trying not to hurl in the front seat).

“You-“ Luther cleared his throat awkwardly, “You did well, Vanya.”

“Yeah, not bad, Seven,” Diego echoed and Allison turned around to grin at her.

It was as close to compliments as she would ever get from her siblings. They were probably just being polite anyway. It was obvious to her that she'd totally bombed the interview and probably ruined the Academy's reputation in France just by existing. Nonetheless, Vanya blushed with pride and fiddled with the buttons on her blazer. She was still smiling softly when the car pulled up to the hotel and they all clambered out of the car, Klaus hanging onto one of their brothers to keep himself upright. Five walked alongside her, opening his mouth like he wanted to say something but deciding to close it again. Instead, he squeezed her shoulder.

The interview never aired anywhere. Hargreeves probably destroyed it.

Years later, when Vanya was doing press interviews for her book, she remembered that first and last interview. She had never been allowed to do one again- exiled to the car or hotels rather than being allowed to sit backstage- and so had no idea what to do when tabloids started calling about her book. Most of her answers were mumbled and self-conscious. Vanya wished that she had Allison’s confidence or Klaus’s charm, rather than being the plain boring one that wasn’t very interesting to talk to.

She wished she still had her siblings to back her up.


	6. Klaus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus makes a new friend.

As soon as he had managed his first word, (“Six!” much to the disappointment of his other siblings), Four had been talking non-stop ever since. He talked a lot, which meant nannies pinched his cheeks endearingly, called him a sweet little chatterbox, and that his dad told him firmly that he should only speak when he was spoken to. It wasn’t polite to talk at the dinner table; as he tilted back on his chair in lessons; when he was disarming his brother in training; at bedtime when he was tucked up in bed. But it wasn’t Four’s fault.

It always seemed like people were trying to talk to him. He remembered the first time that he’d met an ‘imaginary friend’- his father spat the words disapprovingly, as if they tasted bad in his mouth- before he could even talk. Downstairs in the playroom, a man with a meat-cleaver lodged between his eyes seemed delighted Four could see him and spoke to him rapidly. 

Four didn’t understand what the man was trying to tell him, he was much too little then. It was before he could talk, just babbling nonsense and trying to hand the man one of his toys so that they could play together. Instead of grasping the toy, the man let it fall straight through his hand. Maybe he didn’t want to play with Four. Well, fine. He could play with Two instead. 

When he got older and learned to put sentences together, Four often talked to the people that lived in his house and the ones who seemed to wander in and out. The nannies were his favourite, since they didn’t scream at him (like some of them did) and liked to play games with him. One of them sang to him in a funny language and taught him to say new words, like ‘bonjour’. Another one would tell him stories when he was lying in bed, sucking on his thumb.

His siblings didn’t seem interested in anyone except their father and their latest nanny, Grace. It was as if they simply didn’t notice the rest of the people living in their house, which seemed pretty rude to Four. And when bigger, scarier ‘imaginary friends' started showing up and wailing in distress, none of them seemed to hear it either. They asked why he kept crying, hands cupped over his ears. Four slept with a pillow over his head sometimes to block out the noise. 

“Da-ad! Mo-om! Number Four’s crying again!” One of them would call, (usually One or Three), because their father had instructed them to tell them every time.

Four’s daddy would come and ask him questions, scribbling in a secret notebook none of them were allowed to draw in. The leather-bound book was kept firmly hidden away, since Five had found it once and written his name wobbly in blue crayon on several pages. Nobody else knew how to write their name but their dad was more angry than impressed. 

When his dad asked what the people looked like, Four would tell him through his sobs. Most of the time, Grace would abandon whatever she was doing to come and dry his tears, (saying “there, there, dear” lovingly as she did so). It made the screaming slightly more bearable, although it was still much too loud and too painful. His imaginary friends were so _loud_ nowadays. 

One day, when he was a little bit older, his dad came to get him for special training. Dad held his hand as Four trotted obediently at his side and out into the garden, where there was a building he’d never been in before. It was a special place, just for him, and it was where his dad left him for the night. The first time, Four had cried the entire night until his throat was sore and his eyes itched from crying so many tears. The second time too. His old friends scared him now. 

All the training sessions bled together in his mind, too young and too scared to really understand what was happening at the time. But there was one night that he’d told his siblings about over and over again: when he’d met the kind soldier. 

Dad had brought him to the cold building again, where the scary people hid in the dark and jumped out at him to get his attention. He still cried a lot but had learned to do it quietly, sticking his thumb in his mouth and letting the tears roll silently down his face. It was late, so he was starting to drift off to sleep with his head resting uncomfortably against the stone wall of the building. Being in here was scary, sure, but he was starting to adapt to it a little.

“Hey, leave the kid alone,” A man, but not his dad, said above him.

Slowly, Four lifted his head to see that there was a man dressed as a soldier standing next to him. He was wearing all green, a hard helmet, and had an irritated look on his face. He pointed his rifle at a few of the other lingering imaginary friends- Dad called them ‘ghosts’ now- staring them down sharply until they quietened a little, and then dropped to his knees besides Four. 

“Hey, kid, you doing okay?” The soldier asked kindly, “Your parents know you’re in here?”

Four took his thumb out, feeling sheepish, “Dad comes back for me when the sun comes up.”

A strange look crossed the man’s face. It was something like the annoyance from before, crossed with a sort of sad face- like the one Seven made when she wasn’t allowed to play with them. Then, the expression disappeared and he smiled instead, trying to be nice. 

“You got a name? Since we’re going to be here a while.”

“Four,” He told the man shyly, “‘M Four. Are you dead?”

The man gestured to the dark stain on his white shirt, roughly where Four knew that the heart was. It was more to the left, though, right? He remembered learning that in his lessons, when they’d practiced taking each other’s pulses; nobody had been able to find his and Six had panicked, saying that it meant that Four was dead. They’d gotten halfway through a somber funeral in the courtyard, Four lying with his arms crossed over his chest, before Grace had gently explained to them that he wasn’t, in fact, dead. They’d been almost disappointed by the news. 

“Mom says dead people can’t walk and talk anymore,” Four frowned.

The soldier chuckled lightly, “I guess I’m just luckier than most.” 

He doesn’t remember much more of that night but he’s fairly sure that the soldier stayed with him until he fell asleep, telling him about a faraway place called Saigon. It sounded strange and long ago, like a bedtime story, and Four ended up curled on the cold stone floor. When he woke up again, there was no sign of the kind soldier.

When the door opened, a shaft of light fell over him and he blinked as it hurt his eyes. Outside, it was daytime already: it might’ve been the shortest night he’d ever spent in special training or maybe having a friend with him just made it feel that way. He wondered if next time Six or Two could come and keep him company- but he knew Dad would say no. He was always saying no when they asked if they could play together. 

“Number Four!” His father barked, “Have you conquered your fear of the dead?”

Numbly, Four pushed himself into a sitting position and nodded furiously. His father considered this for a long moment, probably wondering if he was “making up stories” again, before he deemed the answer acceptable. Number Four was allowed back into the house. 

After breakfast, (because they weren’t allowed to talk at mealtimes and he was too hungry to break the rules), Four chattered about the solider while One, Two, and Three played with a ball outside. He talked about Saigon while Six read picture books on the couch and Five scrunched his face up in concentration to blink onto the kitchen counter. He even plagued Seven about it while she played with her dolls, making up a game of happy families.

None of them listened, obviously. But Four liked telling them about it nonetheless.

(It made the experience feel more real and not, as he was beginning to think, just something that he’d made up. An imaginary friend to sit with him in the dark. He began to doubt himself more and more when the soldier never appeared again, even when he ventured bravely into the mausoleum to look for him. He wished he’d asked the soldier’s name.) 

Even Grace, when he crawled onto her lap and told her about the mysterious soldier, only gave him a half-hearted, “That’s nice, dear. Would you like to bake some cookies?”  
Four learned to shut up about the mausoleum. 

And eventually, he began to forget all about the ghostly soldier.


	7. Christmas Eve

T’was the night before Christmas in the Hargreeves household,  
In the midst of winter when the home had grown cold,  
No stockings were hung by the chimney with care,  
And, (away on business), the children’s father was not there,  
The seven of them shivered in their identical beds,  
Clueless about the holiday that lay ahead.

For the oversized mansion was bleak and bare,  
Not a single decoration to be seen anywhere,  
Reginald Hargreeves was so cruel and vicious,  
He didn’t let the children have a break from training,  
Not even on Christmas!

Now five years old and still without names,  
The children knew nothing of mistletoe or candy canes,  
No visions of sugar plums danced in their heads,  
(Although Four was often plagued by spirits of the dead),  
Reindeer and trees remained a mystery to them,  
All holiday celebrations, by their father, had been condemned.

Although their mother couldn’t reveal the nature of tomorrow,  
She hated to see her young children feeling such sorrow,  
One by one she woke them from restless sleep,  
And down the grand staircase the group did sneak,  
Tiptoeing through the main room of the house,  
All seven children crept quieter than a mouse.

“Come quick!” Their mother gestured to the window,  
Through the glass they witnessed their first snow,  
Snowflakes falling gently were a sight to see,  
Making the children gasp and whisper with glee,  
It was just like the pictures in their old childhood book!  
The smallest was hoisted on shoulders to get a good look.

Steaming cups of cocoa were brought to share,  
All the children content for a while to sit there,  
Nearby the fireplace was still roaring and hot,  
Their mother thought they might be tired,  
But the seven insisted they were not!

Not long after the girls’ eyes began to close,  
For they were warm and content from head to toes,  
Soon enough even the boys were yawning,  
Lured to bed by promises of more snow in the morning,  
Their mother tucked them in one by one,  
All of them fell asleep with smiles- everyone.

While their father thought celebrations were the tritest,  
That dark winter night felt the warmest and the brightest,  
A magic had spread to every corner of the house,  
Which not even the biggest humbug knew how to douse,  
Snug and happy in their beds, the children slept,  
Knowing their first snow wasn’t something they’d forget,

As she closed the last bedroom door, disappearing from sight,  
The mother of seven children whispered:  
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”


	8. Diego

Dr Gussman had dealt with many families during his time as a dentist- but none as peculiar as The Hargreeves. The appointment had been booked by their mother a few weeks in advance and it was her that brought them to the practice, despite everything being paid for by the father. This in itself wasn’t unusual. But the names that the children had been booked under were surely some kind of mistake: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven. Miss Jackson, the bemused receptionist nodded, when Gussman asked if she was sure she had heard the names correctly. 

Well, Gussman supposed he wasn’t in the place to question it. Besides, he'd heard that Reginald Hargreeves was a rich, powerful, and eccentric man. That kind of man could likely put him out of business if his children didn't receive the best treatment. So, Dr Gussman tried to smile when he went out to the waiting room and greeted the seven siblings, who couldn’t have been more different. He supposed that they must be adopted. 

“Well, then,” He said, after making his introductions, “Who’s going first?”

Without prompting, the blonde boy leapt to his feet and shot a smug look back at his siblings. There was little question about who was the favourite child in this family. The boy, One, was polite and kept quiet throughout the checkup. Six was next, closing his book and leaving it in the care of his mother, and was even more reserved than his brother. Three was more talkative than any of her siblings, asking all kinds of questions and beaming with delight when she was told her teeth were perfect. Four was chatty too but slightly seemed out of it, repeatedly glancing at the corner of the room. Occasionally, he would mutter something under his breath.

Seven was non-verbal and couldn’t be tugged away from Five, so the pair came in together. The little boy seemed more interested in the technicalities of how everything worked and was bright for his age, reciting a few facts he knew about dentistry. Seven squeezed his hand the whole time.

“Your turn, Two,” Grace Hargreeves coaxed gently, “Then, we can go get ice cream.”

This caused an uproar among the other siblings, who seemed delighted at the rare treat, but Two didn’t make a sound. He just clung to his mother’s skirt, so tightly that his knuckles were turning white, and tried to hide his face in her blouse. Dr Gussman had met many children (and adults) who were nervous around dentists but doubted a lollipop would be enough to lure Two away from his mother. Instead, Grace peeled him off carefully and nudged him forward.

Reluctantly, looking as pale as a sheet, Two trotted into the examination room. He eyed the chair nervously, eyes flickering around the room, before eventually climbing into it and gripping the arms of the chair tightly. He looked as if he was in physical pain.

“Nothing to worry about, Two,” Gussman told him cheerfully, (though it still felt weird to refer to the children by numbers), “I’ll be very gentle.”

Two tentatively opened his mouth, allowing him to get a good look at his teeth. It was impressive that all seven children had taken impeccable care of their teeth and gums and Dr Gussman made a mental note to congratulate their mom. Especially if this was their first ever dental appointment. While Two didn’t mind the mirror being used to look at his teeth, his eyes widened immediately at the sight of the pointy dental probe. Like a frantic animal, he scrabbled out of the chair and was halfway across the room before the dentist could realise what was happening. Two cowered, trembling, in the corner.

Remembering Seven, Dr Gussman suggested: “Would you like one of your siblings to stay with you? I could get one of your brothers and sisters.”

“F-F-Four.” Two stammered, “I w-wa-wa-want F-F-Four.”

Nodding, Dr Gussman went back into the waiting room and called for Number Four to come over. He didn’t say why, thinking Two might be embarrassed if his family knew he was scared. Four, who had been playing ‘the floor is lava’ with a few of his other siblings, leapt off the coffee table and skipped into the check-up room. He didn't look surprised that Two had asked for him- the two of them must be close. As Gussman let the door fall closed behind him, he heard Three pretending to sob over Four’s drowning in lava and One laughing at her.

Bravely, Two had managed to clamber back into the dentist’s chair and was fiddling with something in his hands. It looked like a knife- _toys_ , Dr Gussman thought, _were so realistic nowadays_ \- though he slipped it away quickly so that Four could grab his hand.

“You t-tell anyone about th-this, you’re d-de-dead,” Two glowered.

Although Dr Gussman had noticed his slight stutter earlier, he'd assumed that it was more to do with nerves than anything else. Now, he thought Two might just have an unfortunate speech impediment. _Poor kid. No wonder he hadn't said anything sooner._

Nonchalantly, Four grinned at him and squeezed his hand, “Whatever, _Kraken_.”

Dr Gussman didn’t understand the joke but it made Two glare harder and Four start giggling. Regardless, having his brother there did seem to help a little and Two was able to get through the rest of the check-up without bolting from the chair. Though, it didn’t stop him from whimpering and trying to curl away from him every time Dr Gussman used the dental probe. To his credit, Four seemed highly empathetic for a grade schooler and did a great job at soothing his brother. At the end of the check-up, Two leapt quickly out of the chair and staggered to his brother, reluctantly letting Four hug him. 

When they returned to the waiting room, Two was still shaken but some of the colour had returned to his face. He dropped Four’s hand and ran straight to his mother, who was looking at him with pride. She ruffled his hair and muttered something Dr Gussman couldn't hear. Then, she announced that to the children that it was time to go get ice cream and they scrambled to get into line. Another peculiar thing about the Hargreeves was how the orderly way they filed out of the room like they were a class of highly obedient schoolchildren rather than a family. 

“What a strange family,” Dr Gussman muttered before turning to the receptionist, “Are you quite alright, Miss Jackson?”

She shook her head and smiled, “I think I need an early night tonight. I could’ve sworn I saw one of those children _teleport_ across the room!”

They both laughed at the ridiculous idea.


End file.
